


Inferno - A Slender Man One-Shot (Slender/Reader)

by frenchiedoodle



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Slender (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dark, Death Threats, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Fear, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27400798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchiedoodle/pseuds/frenchiedoodle
Summary: The setting will resemble much more the one found in "Slender: The Eight Pages" than in "Slender: The Arrival". If you want a song to listen for this story, it would be "Ghost of Love" from David Lynch, Silent Hill 2 OST, or just the theme of "Slender: The Eight Pages".*The story is not finished.*
Relationships: Slender Man/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Inferno - A Slender Man One-Shot (Slender/Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work is not for the faint of heart. If you're easily triggered by violence, blood/gore and sexual content, please DO NOT READ. Those stories will be scary and violent on purpose, because they feature mentally disturbed killers. You've been warned.
> 
> First of all, I want to thank you all for the amazing way the story was received! Every kudos, every comments and bookmarks felt like one more hug from you that I absolutely cherished. I couldn't even begin to conceive that it would go so far (I sincerley imagined a maximum of 20/30 kudos because my writing is apocalyptic and hellishly disorganized) , and it's really heart-warming to know you had a good time reading this first chapter! So, really, thank you! 
> 
> Anyway, important matter here: The story will partially focus on a pretty hard subject that is drugs and addiction (sprinkled with a bit of depression), which is actually some dangerous stuff (duh.). So if you, or someone you know is having troubles with addiction or any other issue, here is a link to some international helplines, as well as a link to the European Foundation of Drugs Helplines (FESAT): 
> 
> http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline  
> http://www.fesat.org/en/
> 
> So if you or someone you know is dealing with addiction related issues, I genuinely wish you good luck , and encourage you to seek help to recover. 
> 
> Have a good time reading!

You coughed harshly, your throat sore because of the acidic, putrid content rolling out of it. Spitting into the toilet bowl, you wrinkled your nose at the horrid smell and flushed. You then got up and took your toothbrush, beginning to brush your teeth and every corner of your mouth as nausea came back, unstoppable. You glanced at your sickened reflection absently, noticing again the deep bags under your eyes, and your sweaty forehead. Blood had drained from your face, so much that your lips blended with the rest of your skin with an abnormal alabaster shade. You hated dope sickness. Because of the diarrhea and the nausea, you had trouble eating, and felt therefore completely exhausted. The headaches, coupled with hot and cold sweats, weren't helping neither. You remembered again the hellish night you had spent, tossing and turning, and constantly getting up to go to the bathroom, again and again. The energy lacked you, and you felt blessed that it was only late in the Saturday night, and that you didn't have to work in those awful conditions. You exited your bathroom at a lazy pace, praying for the symptoms of your acute withdrawal to not get worse too soon.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you went through hell and back...”

“Keep your comments to yourself Harry, p-please… I-I feel sick enough, and my head hurts...”, you responded with a low, shaky voice, a distinct throbbing in your temples making you more sensitive and irascible.  
Strangely enough, your dealer, Harry, seemed pretty nervous too tonight. Usually, he was a pretty nice guy. Well… “Nice” for a drug dealer. He had no trouble understanding that you, as much as his other buyers, were a desperate person, and that you had trouble keeping up with the symptoms of your withdrawal. So, living in a small town lost in the middle of nowhere, with only a small police department and, surprisingly, a pretty big demand for his products, he usually rented a hotel room for his clients to join him, or he went directly to their house with the merchandise. You knew Harry since quite a time now, and you were one of a few that never pointed a gun at him, even because of the withdrawal, or as you called it, “dope sickness”. It designated this state of atrocious illness that you suffered, its symptoms being the ones of an acute withdrawal that came in the few hours after you took the opiate that ruined your life since the beginning.  
Being quite non-violent with him, and knowing him for that long, he had no trouble coming to your house when you called him to buy his offers.

Drowsy, you tumbled towards your couch and sat beside him, while he had already exposed his products on the small table in front of you.  
You eyed with much attention every small plastic bags, containing white immaculate powders or black gooey substances, as you craved the relief a fix could give you. You tried to focus on something else, breathing deeply as sweat had formed on your forehead. You still were so nauseous, and your stomach was churning, it was awful. Near you, Harry was tapping the ground rapidly with his foot, alert and seemingly very unnerved.

“Hey, listen (F/N), I know it's hard, but… Can he get over this quickly today…?”

You furrowed your brows, looking at him with a confused and apprehensive look.

“W-what's up with you, dude...? Calm down, I'm not even…-”, you began shakily, before being roughly cut off.

“Please, I really need you to go faster, I… I'm in a hurry, really…!”, Harry exclaimed, ruffling his hair with his hand.

You said nothing, a bit surprised by his sudden reaction, but decided to ignore this and to do as he said. If he was in a hurry, good for you, you were in a hurry too, and craved to get any form of relief as you felt cold sweat running down your spine. You understood how so much people could threaten him just for a fix, as you twisted your fingers, fidgeting, impatient to get finally high . But you had to remain calm, or you’ll never get it. After all, you had nothing to do with his business, and you really, really needed a fix. Right now.  
You chose a bundle, the equivalent of 10 fixes, so you could try to pass the week ahead without losing it to a withdrawal state during work. After all, you had to be paid, and you couldn’t afford to call in sick just for the sake of your pitiful state. You handed a hundred of dollars to the man sitting next to you with trembling hands, naturally on the edge. He took it hastily, and burrowed them in his bag, starting to collect rapidly all of his items, except for the bundle he sold to you. You, on the other hand, just stood while taking the plastic bag you just bought, and smiled weakly, sighing in relief. You could finally do your thing. Maybe a fix wasn’t enough to get you high, to finally cheer you up, but at least it was enough for you to get a bit better and for the symptoms of your dope sickness to lessen. As your dealer was about to leave, he called for you as you packed your opiate correctly in a drawer of your room.  
“Hey, (F/N)...! If someone asks, I haven’t been here tonight. Clear?”

“...Why would someone ask?”, you answered in a hasted confusion.

“Just answer me! Are we clear?”

“Yeah of course, b-but…”

You didn’t even had the time to finish that the guy bursted out of your apartment, slamming your door behind him before you heard him running down the stairs. You hadn’t the slightest idea of why this guy, who usually was pretty relaxed, suddenly became so erratic. But this thought was soon to be crushed by your overwhelming need to get a blow, as you only kept a fix in your hand. You got to your bathroom, where the light was definitely brighter than in the rest of your apartment, and put the small plastic bag next to the sink before bending and searching for your syringe. The white powder you had bought, even if it couldn’t give you the best of ‘high’ feelings, seemed to be enough to save you from any more suffering.

And, of course, money being one of your biggest problems, you just couldn’t afford to feel happy and healthy again by buying more. The intense euphoria and more durable state of health was long gone as you started to being used to the usual fixes, and you felt condamned to simply beg for a small relief, a short break in the incessant nightmare of your declining health.

It was heroin that had a hold of your addiction. And you were completely dependant of its pleasant, artificial and short-term effect. Rummaging through your stuff, you finally found the black box where your syringe was lying. In a basket right next to it, there was a lighter, and a spoon. You set everything in a line on a floor beside you, before filling a little glass with water, and placing it beside all of your stuff. Every little one of those actions were like a part of a ritual. It was part of your habits, you actions had an order, so you would feel well before shooting yourself. Sitting comfortably on your bathroom floor, you opened the black, rectangular box to reveal a syringe and a needle, and a rubber garrotte in a small compartment. You took your spoon, which you had cleaned a day ago, and filled it with the immaculate heroin you had bought, then you add a bit of water. Your hands were trembling even more, but you were extremely careful not to spill anything. It was crucial, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you lost any of the precious opiate. You lit your lighter and placed it under the round metal of the spoon, watching how the mixed liquid started to bubble and to get more brown as you heated it, with some sort of tired fascination. You felt the familiar feeling of the spoon’s metal handle getting warmer, while a tingling scent rose to your nose. Once your concoction was ready, you put the spoon down and started to assemble your syringe, screwing the needle to the rest of the tool. Filling it with the brown-yellowish, thick liquid, you then placed it between your teeth, took the garrotte and got to work.

One of the most complicated things to do was to find an adequate vein to shoot. Since most of your veins were scarred or had collapsed, you couldn’t inject your fix anywhere on you. It just wouldn’t work. You searched desperately on your arms, yours legs, inserting your needle to find the spot painful and rapidly starting to bleed, without seeing any blood in your syringe.

“Ugh… Fuck…”, you complained to no one in particular, simply starting to get unnerved, with a kind of tension that was soaked in underlying hysteria. Tears bubbled at the edge of your eyes, and you quickly wiped them, worried that you unclear sight would make your task even harder.  
You started to search near your fingers or near your toes, but beyond the fear of hurting yourself once again by missing a vein or hurting one which was already scarred, you were growing sicker and more desperate. It seemed like a lost cause, as you felt some drops of warm blood trickling along your arms and legs. You sighed, deeply upset, and started to clean the blood with a cotton ball before going back at it again. You were beginning to grow tired, and sighed as you tried one last spot.

Hope rushed back at you when you felt the needle going deep under your skin, and that you saw a red puff spraying out in the syringe, mixing with the drug.

“Yes…!” you whispered to yourself again, expecting you relief impatiently. Finally…

You then proceeded to slowly push the piston, injecting yourself with the blood impregnated opiate. You felt the familiar, easing warmth pooling in your blood as the liquid started to make its way in your vascular system. Soon, you felt your muscles, cramping earlier, relaxing all of a sudden. Your breathing was labored as you fell in the comforting embrace of artificial well-being, as a factitious state of serenity invaded you quite soon. You felt suddenly less drowsy, less panicked and disoriented, and a slight euphoria began to settle in, as you felt the desire to snicker at something...You decided you could maybe have a break hour or two during this week-end, and lifted yourself up without bothering to tidy behind you. Maybe crashing on your couch and caring to watch a lame show on the TV could be funny. At least it seemed to be a good plan if you wanted to empty your head, which was exactly what you needed right now. A break. From life, from the overthinking, from your unstoppable train of negative thoughts… From everything. You sat on your couch, and looked at the clock on your wall. It was almost 10:00pm… You had been sitting in your bathroom for nearly half an hour, without even realising it. You turned on the TV only to see an old sitcom.

“Well, It’ll do…” you groaned to yourself with a relaxed smile plastered on your face, while lying yourself stomach down on the couch.

Despite the TV being turned on, the broadcasted show rapidly became a background sound, and your thoughts began to drift off. You distractedly peaked at your arm, hanging from the couch, and punctuated by a few small, dark red holes. Why did you have to do this to yourself? You remembered when you were little. You were young, careless. You didn’t have to rely on any kind of drug to feel happy and healthy. It sounded like heaven now that your life had turned to this hell.  
Not to be mistaken, your downfall to heroin wasn’t entirely due to plain stupidity, nor to the ignorance that your relatively young age implied. No, you had descended towards it because fate had turned its back to you, and that your world collapsed following tragic events. You remembered when you were still a child and that your mother ran away with you, because your father was an alcoholic, and was gradually becoming more violent and threatening, not only to her, but also to you. You didn’t remember well the part where your parents where still together. But you remember the incessant messages of your father on the phone, asking your mother to return home with you, and how she refused each time. You also, unfortunately, remember the decrease of her health when you were approximately twelve, and how she was diagnosed with an advanced stage pulmonary cancer. You remember the last two month you spent with her, how she looked at you with this benevolent, tender look of her, albeit tired, and how she told you that you were and would forever stay her precious little angel, that you could become someone exceptional. And you also, very painfully remembered the dark, clean clothes you wore at her funeral, the sobbing that shook you to the core, as your father held your shoulder possessively, while whispering:

“Don’t worry, honey, I’m going to take care of you…”

He never held his promise.

Memories came back to you, memories of the heavy blows you put up with when you made a mistake and enraged him. How he could hit you so hard, even for no reason, just because he was awfully drunk. How fear grew, your heart racing, when you saw your father’s eyes change to a dreadful look of blind rage, his face suddenly becoming red from the bubbling furry, all of which preceded a violent blow, the pain staying like an heavy ache in your head.  
Growing up in a violent environment, constantly worrying because of your father, the feeling of helplessness you suffered everyday began to transform into an underlying form of negativity. You soon discovered that a crippling depression plagued you. Out of nowhere, sometimes even in school or during the night in your room, you would cry, overwhelmed by a devastating sadness, feeling like no one could help you. Of course, you tried to persuade yourself that it was only a side-effect of the terrible condition you grew in. But you should have felt hatred, and anger towards the people who made you suffer. And you never felt that, you only felt this awful feeling of emptiness. Like all of this happened because you should never have been here in the first place, and that all this suffering could be spared to you if you just disappeared.

You began to have trouble waking up the morning, thinking about how pointless it was to just… Being alive. You made your best to continue going to high-school, but it was hard. You were smart, but had no one to share your scholar achievements with.  
Progressively, you grew up and began to spend less time home, and made everything to stay out late with the few of your friends. That’s when you started to try some illicit products. At the beginning, you started with light things, like weed. You smoked a bit with your friends, not daring to drink, but forgetting about the situation you were in. It was like those times spent smoking and laughing with relatively nice people made a completely different world, isolated from reality. It felt like an escape. A bubble of unconcern, where you felt a bit lighter. They progressively began to introduce you to new products. You didn’t mind. If you could forget, you didn’t care what you could use. You just stayed away from alcohol, it was… Not your thing. But anything else felt okay. By the side of your friends, you just felt sort of protected. Away from the violence of the world.

But the harsh reality was vowed to reappear before you, and each time you got home, you had to be invisible. You had to lock the door of your room, and you had to ignore the shouts of your father outside. You had to deal with your unstoppable desire to curl up on your bed and cry to sleep, while you still wished to be able to work so you could graduate, despite your grades sometimes decreasing, naturally. It was really hard times that drove you through this downfall. You still felt like you weren’t the worst wreck in the world. At least, you weren’t homeless now, as it happened to some of your friends. You graduated when you were younger, a few years ago, and you got a job with minimum wage, working as a cashier in a gas station. You also could afford a very small flat, so you could live away from what remained of your family. Life wasn’t always pleasant, but it was better than nothing.

You hadn’t realized those memories brought tears in your eyes, which flooded now your eyesight. You didn’t like your life, simply, and this thought alone was enough to drive you to sob quietly, thinking of how things could have turned differently if you had been a bit luckier. You lived with unfulfilled needs for almost everything, apart from a high leveled and dangerous addiction. You needed more money to pay your loan, and were often hungry. Sometimes your electricity broke because you were late to pay your bills. And you had to sustain a craving for an opiate you desperately needed, but hated because it had partially contributed to ruin your life.

You burrowed your head in your arms, not even paying attention to your TV. Your past euphoric feeling was now long gone, and you felt better as you allowed yourself to cry. You were asserted by a need you despised, and your life was not what you’ve always had dreamt about. You sometimes felt lost, enslaved by your own difficulties. And you didn’t even have the strength to feel sad. You just felt like something was missing inside of you, constantly, a part of your soul lost, never to be found again. You felt so overwhelmed by this sudden rush of emotional pain, that you almost didn’t hear the loud pounding on your door.   
Not sure you had heard correctly, you lifted your head and stared at the door. Maybe you had imagined it, and you were perfectly alone. But your hopes to deal with your sorrow were broken when you heard a new set of strokes pounding in your door, followed by a gruff voice calling from outside:   
  
"Police, open up please..."  
  
Of course. _Of fucking course..._ Harry was busted. This prick took the risk to come to your apartement, ignoring the fact that he was probably traced by the cops. And now, you were going to be caught because of him. You just had goosebumps imagining dreadfully the gigantic numbers on your fine, or your time spent in jail. And you really, really couldn't afford either of those two things. You would finish your life in the streets, probably just poorer. The shouts of the man behind the door continued, demanding you to open your house to them, and you knew they would search everywhere, even for a little connection to your dealer. You had to go away. Now.   
You rose up ever-so-quietly, trying not to make a sound. You've done it so many times when you were young, being so silent you could trick anyone into thinking you weren't here. Making it look like you didn't even exist. You knew the men calling outside were begining to be suspicious. The loudest voice was drowned by several, quieter ones, they were maybe 3 or 4 of them. Their quiet talking indicated that they were planing to do something, obviously not in your favor. You felt with a building tension that you had to be quick, swift and precise, like a shadow. You really hoped you could be as quick and silent as you wished, despite your recent shoot. You walked on your toes, as silently as possible to your room, and closed the door without a sound, hoping that the deafening pounding of your heart in your chest wouldn't give you away.  
  
Once in your room, you slowly closed the door, and let off the breath you had been unconsciously holding in. Breathing heavily, your heart racing, you could see in all its might the overwhelming fear that was building up within you. You wouldn't let yourself be caught, you couldn't let that happen. The urgency of this situation filled you with unleashed distress, as you silently paced in your room, only accompanied by the melody of your panicked breath.   
There was a window in your living room, one that almost gave you access to a fire staircase, the metal structure finishing with a slim ladder. Maybe, if you could jump the gap between the window and the staircase, you could have a clean path to run away. You would hide, maybe in the woods.   
  
You remembered the few times you walked behind the building where your apartement was. Afar, you would always see a dense forest extending in the horizon. Even during the clearest days, it always seemed too dark, contrasting with its lack of light. Like a world apart of yours, it seemed to bear its own darkness, its own ominous presence, not depending on the rules of your own world. It felt like it was a unique place, only obeying to its rules. In the city, the woods where known for the dark mystery surrounding them. It was rumored to be haunted, especially after a bunch of people got missing after entering it, including children. Of course, the police had made a huge investigation regarding this, but they never found anything. Even worse, they lost cops during the searchings in this forest, and since then, they abandoned the investigation. Nobody ever knew what was hiding in this gloomy place. Probably just some hobo maniac you believed, since every now and then, a corpse reappeared at the edge of the woods, each time at a different stage of decomposition. It became more and more common to see in the local news that one had disappeared, or that the other was found dead near the forest, young or not.   
  
That was it, the woods were your best chance so far. You lazily grabbed an empty backpack, and stuffed it with the strict minimum, also taking with any evidences of your drug consumption with you. Your syringe, the fixes, and you also took your phone and a water bottle, because you never knew. Putting a dark sweat-shirt on and your sneakers, with some gloves, you almost felt like a ninja. You then wrapped up your face with a black scarf, protecting you from the cold as well as hiding your face efficiently, and pulled up your hood. Now, you were sure no one could recognize you.  
  
Now ready, you faced you room's door, taking a deep, shaky breath. Despite making up a plan in you head, repeating it countlessly in your hazy mind, you still felt unsure. Of course it was dumb. You were going to get caught, maybe even hurt if not both. You were a junkie. A depraved, delusional mess... And yet, with a fleeting hope, you thought that it would cost nothing to _at least_ try. Who knows?   
Your heart was still pounding, your breath erratic, and you were sweating. You already heard the threats behind your door, threatening to smash the door to come in. You didn't have much time. And you would not bother about being silent right now.   
  
You burst through your bedroom door, sprinting to the window, already opening it. Outside, you heard the shout of the officer. He must've heard you so clearly, you thought, after you peaked and saw you door tremble furiously after a booming impact. You were already opening your window, stepping on the edge before you heard another crashing sound, and your door being burst open and someone stepping loudly inside. You turned your head toward the ladder.   
  
"Oh my-... What the fuck am I doing...", you uttered, seeing the distance between you and the ladder. It was at least 5 or 6 feet ahead of you. But before you could react, your head snapped to a furious voice, the one of the policeman that saw you:   
  
"YOU! Get inside, or we-"  
  
You didn't heard what he said when you jumped. You pushed on your legs as hard as you could, diving in the air with your arms extended in front of you. As the sole of your shoes left the solid edge of your window, a striking pain in your chest made you feel like your heart skipped a beat, your chest and your stomach aching from the powerful blow of shock. This was the first pain you registered, the second being the hit of the ladder against you. You heard yourself grunt in a pained way when your chest collided with it, as you struggled to breath again.   
Your hands banged severeal times on some of the ladder's steps, before firmly contracting on one of the horizontal bars, halting your fall. You didn't have time to registered that you hadn't fallen, that you've managed to tightlfully grip on the ladder before your heart skipped another beat with an abrupt movement.   
Your sudden weight on the structure unfolded it unexpectedly, the ladder rolling at full speed under you, taking you with its downfall. Once completely unrolled, the stucture came to a rough stop, blocking itself at a few meters from the ground. The shock of the halt made you loose your grip on the ladder, closing the distance between you and the ground in a short, and yet painful fall. 

You felt dirt on your face, in your neck and on your clothes, as you struggled to get up. Quite ahead of you, in the floor of your apartment, you heard the shouts of the officer, bewildered to see you had the guts to jump and not even die in the process. But you couldn't stay flat on the ground and wait for the impressed, yet angry man to come and get you. You stood up, and realized everything was hurting... Great. You wobbled a few instants on your trembling legs, your muscles protesting and your head pounding, for it had collided with the ground quite harshly. You looked up, your hazy mind processing the distance between you and the woods... You could see it afar, calling you almost. It was the perfect hide out. You began to run to the metal fence bordering it, grabbing you bag firmly so it wouldn't slide while you run. You began to increase your speed as your mind became clearer and clearer with adrenaline, your only aim being the shadows of the forest, welcoming you out of the grasp of your pursuers.   
You were only a few dozen of foot away from the fence, already sprinting since your mind was clearing up efficiently and your muscles moving under the effective pressure of fear, before you heard a voice behind you:   
  
"STOP RIGHT HERE, OR WE OPEN FIRE! "  
  
Was this a hint of dread in his voice? You were fairly close to a forest no one, even the police men, dared to approach. You pushed on your legs, and jumped as high as you could on the metal fence, before starting to climb it. Then, reaching the barbed wires at the top, you got past them by pushing your bag on it. It was quite awkward, and a perilous move to make, but once you had a leg on the other side, hope shot through you and you tried to get past this obstacle with a renewed energy. Well, as much as you could have since you had a fix a few times ago.   
One of the officer began to approach the fence, and your heart raced, making you climb faster, and unfortunately, in a more clumsy way.   
But suddenly, a pained whimper escaped you as you slid, and felt something piercing the skin of your leg. You harshly grunted as your heart skipped a beat when your lost your balance, and your unsteady form suddenly fell on the far ground.   
You had at least a one or two seconds fall before your whole side met again with the cold, stone-hard ground. Panicked by your sudden pain, and your breath knocked out of your suffering lungs, you rose your dull body and looked up at your leg; it had been ripped by the barbed wires you had tried to climb, which had shredded your pants and your flesh alongside. A vivid pain was slowly growing numb in your calf, and you tried to grab the bag that had fallen with you rapidly as you saw one of the officer grabbing the fence, ready to climb it. Breathing heavily, you eyed him a moment before realizing what he was doing, and after a quick glance at the leg that had just started to bleed, you decided to get up and run. You had nothing to loose anyway.   
Pushing yourself up, you rose on unsteady feet, and yet rapidly, you started running. Well... More "tumbling quickly" in the dark of the night, trying to escape the growing menace of the policemen. And yet, even with your bleeding leg, you were quite fast. Even if the price of your speed was a seering pain. You didn't care, at least you would give yourself a chance to escape. 

The cold air brushed on your exposed skin, sweat already coating your warmly covered skin as it took everything you had to keep going. And as your speed build up with habit and effort, you knew it wouldn't be enough to stop your pursuers. When you were far enough from the fence, you just stopped, and saw that you were on the main track. You knew it because there was a path cleared of any weeds and grass. It traced a ligne in the dry dirt that guided you. Anyone would have the reflex to follow it. In parks, and even in wilderness, paths tended to lead an individual to key places. Since the dawn of times, albeit this technique was known to be tricky, it was known that no one should walk away from a path unless they wanted to get lost. Children were taught this since centuries. It was only logical that you would follow it, to your pursuers of course. They didn't have time to call more squads to search the entire area, and if they were to dare enter this cursed place to go after a simple junkie, they would only follow the lead of a pathway until they get bored, or realise a drugged kid at the brink of death wasn't worth it. So you did the only thing that you coud do: you stepped out of the path, disapearing in the darkness around you. There, trees were closer to each other, and the side of the path seemed secluded in comparison to the rest of the scenery. Your dark clothes matched and blended in the obscurity, giving your a perfect, persistent and ever present hiding place.   
  
You found a tree nearby, and as your speed decreased, the hot blood covering your leg revived a searing pain in one of your muscles. You slumped aginst it, and it took everything you had just to keep quiet.   
  
"Just a moment, wait until they get past you. Please. Please, shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up...", you pleaded to yourself, whispering, as pained cries formed and died in your throat, as you contained them with all your will.   
You only needed a few instants of silence.   
  
But then, you waited. And waited. And waited.  
  
  
  
No one came.   
  
  
...What? What happened? As you run, I heard it. The rattling of the fence, the steps following you in your frenetic race... Why weren't they here? Even if you were well hidden, it was so easy to just... Run a bit, look around, and go away. Why on earth wasn't anyone here...?   
  
But as you ponder, you soon realise you got incredibly lucky. Chances were the men didn't want to risk getting lost or harmed in this forest, and didn't dare to enter. As for you... You lived right next to this cursed place for quite a bit now. I has become a part of your home somehow. A discreet, and yet known to be dangerous part of the daily scenery. You didn't really care if any psycho would live here, or harm you... Most chances were that once, a maniac killed someone here, but that the rest of the disappearances were coincidences. Kids getting lost, people attacked by wild animals, or even victim of accidents of their own making while roaming in those woods.   
Seeing as you were alone, you allowed yourself to breath again. A single exhale sufficed to tear a desperate weep from you. God... Your leg, it was hurting...You were so tired. Starting to cry, you tried to lift the clothe of your jeans to inspect the wound.   
It seemed... Bad. Really bad. Starting to feel anxious, you took you backpack, opening it and stuffing your hand in it to try and find a more reliable source of light than the pale moonlight. You found your phone, and activated the old, dimming flash. It was better than nothing, after all...  
  
The barbed wires had managed to tear down your flesh quite deeply. The blood that had poured already started to dry, becoming the brown, sticky glue around the profound dent in your calf. The cut was so deep, it was just a sloppy dent, bathed in red. The center of it was just blood, becomming darker where the wound became deeper. Sometimes, around the dark of your blood, there were small chunks of skin, of flesh poking out of the sticky, thick pool of liquid. The pain was unforgiving, cutting deeper and deeper in your nerves. At such a gruesome sight, you started to cry harder. You couldn't control it. You sniffed loudly, trying to get a better look. You were used to the sight of blood. Between periods and the veins you were scarring while making your injections, you just had to. You hands were shaking, really hard, and you didn't know if it was the pain, the shock, the aftermath of the fucking ton of adrenaline in your veins, or the substances in your blood which started to were off. The worst of all would have been the smell. You leg, the blood gliding warmly against your skin... It beared a horrible stench, mixing the dirt that was sticking to it with a rotten odour.  
  
At this point, your head started to hurt already. The rotten, putrid fragance, you didn't even know if it came from your leg. It was like it was ambient. Everywhere around you. It wretched of death. Your pounding head was keeping you from concentrating, and you knew it could only have two distinct causes: dope sickness, or the loss of blood.   
You had only one way to make sure. Putting down your phone, you reached for your backpack again, and pulled out the old water bottle you had unexpectedly took from your room. It was pretty small, and only half-full, but it was already enough. You opened it, before pouring a little bit of water on your wounded skin. You sighed, as the clear liquid felt fresh against your heating skin. But soon a enough, your content sigh became a hiss of pain, your wound stinging even more as it was cleansed. You had to endure this, you needed it if you wanted to keep your leg. And you certainly couldn't risk and infection right now. There wasn't much progression though. The wound still stinged and made you suffer a slicing pain, but at least it was clean, even if it was still bleeding. You then took off your scarf, and made your best to wrap it the tightest way possible around the bleeding muscle. Soon, the clothe became drenched in fresh blood, but the flow slowed down quite frankly. Your head was spinning, but you managed to smile, proud to have made something useful. _For once, you were useful, but it would not last, stupid_. At least it was working for now. The tight press of the clothe also held your sliced muscle in place, making it so you progressively stopped feeling anything. It wasn't that the pain was gone. Everything was gone. Your leg just strated to go numb, or at least your calf. But this, this was better than walking in pain. You didn't you walk well, but at least you felt like you were able to.   
  
Ever so slowly, you tried to get up. At the begining, after you had packed your bag, you just grabbed the tree behind you, trying to hoist yourself up, but it was pretty awkward. Actually, if the lack of pain made you more comfortable, the numbness kept you from walking properly. But soon enough, after a couple of attempts, you finally managed to get up, leaning on the moist wood of the tree near you. Your equilibrium was fragile, but it was enough to try and move. You had to, staying in the same spot wasn't a very good idea. You had to spot the limits of those woods, and find your way home just late enough that no cops would wait for you. You picked up your backpack, and your phone on the ground, which was now your only source of light, before starting to walk, calmly eyeing your surroundings. Even with the pale moonlight slightly filtering through some dead trees, the woods were extremely dark, and albeit it was pretty normal, you prefered to find your way out of here with a bit more light. Running away blinded by the darkness was okay, you just had to keep going. But now? You had to keep track of where you were going, and blind, you would just die here.   
Your steps were precautious, a bit slow, and irregular. The only sound around you were your soft steps in the grass and the dirt. All of it was... Oddly serene. Sometimes, a cricket would whistle in the dark, bushes and leaves would rustle quietly, whispering all around you. The wind would caress your skin with soft breezes, making you shiver and regret your now drenched scarf.   
  
Usually, you liked appreciating the small things nature made. The mild scent vegetation exhaled when it rains, the quiet peace in a night walk, the evasion a simple ray of light could offer. But despite the events of tonight, something was bugging you. You liked the setting you were in. You were **supposed to**. It was always like this. A base that has never changed, a mark in your erratic personality.   
Whether it was the withdrawal mentally suffocating you, or the insipid loneliness of this darker place bothering you, you felt like this place, despite it's peace, was sickening. The quiet nature was dying, along with something inside you.   
There was also the unceasing tug in your stomach. It wasn't **actually** painful. It was just... Weirdly uncomfortable. Like a persistent weight in the pit of your abdomen. An ominous feeling. Was it fear? Worry? Maybe just the uneasiness, since you felt so alone in a place you didn't know... _Maybe you just felt bad about yourself, crybaby._  
  
Suddenly, lost in your thoughts as you wondered around those woods, your head lifted up and your eyes lit up with surprise, as you stumbled upon something:  
Just in front of you, completely unmoving, was an old brown truck. It looked like it was decaying for years now... The metal was rusting absolutely everywhere, and it seemed devoured by the humid wind, ready to crumble to pieces. _You're ready to crumble to pieces too_. Intrigued, you approached the strange founding. Your steps were still quite uncertain, and despite your determination, your were reminded by your own slowing metabolism that your withdrawal was coming back. You were falling sick again, your pounding cranium and your nauseated stomach making it hard to think again. You already had begun to sweat again, depite feeling incredibly cold, and it seemed like nothing in your body would cooperate. It only meant one thing: if you wanted to feel better, you had to inject yourself a fix. Sometimes, it almost felt like an unwanted duty. A chore. _You were such a slave..._ If the physical pain wasn't enough, now your mind was back at it now. Actually, you think your mind was down the path for much longer, without you realizing it. _Of course you didn't realize, you obnoxious wreck._ This void sadness. An empty shell hitting you with it's blunt violence. Self-hate. Guilt. All the negative, parasite thoughts. _You **deserved it** so much. What a dumb fuck. You were born alone, and you will die alone. What were you thinking. Someone like **you** would never have a second chance. You would do **everyone** a favor if you just disappeared. You useless piece of shi_ _-_  
 **STOP.** Stop it. Right now. What the heck were you thinking about?   
You hadn't even realized, lost in your progressive mental and physical distress, that you had stopped walking. You also didn't realize that your breathing had picked up, and that you were crying. Tears were pouring freely on your cheeks, sliding on your skin and leaving a burning, invisible path on them. You hastily dried them with your trembling hands. Okay, self-hate, guilt, all that mess. It happened to just come when you had dope sickness. Or even when you were in your normal state actually, but this wasn't important. Right now, the only things you wanted were a fix, and to get out of those dark woods. Their obscure aura started to grow on you, and you really, **really** needed to concentrate. You rubbed your tired eyes, sighing.   
  
Then, you thought of something, looking at the old truck... The metal looked old, but the interior seemed oddly clean. Maybe some chemicals gnawed at the exterior, but the vehicule in itself was pretty new? Just abandoned, that's all... Maybe the batterie was still intact, and you could have some light it you managed to tinker a bit with the wires!   
But you would never be sure if you didn't check. And if you were right... You could get yourself one of the fixes in your backpack, and be in a somewhat better state to continue searching for a way home. With this new idea in mind, you started to approach the vehicule. Your hand gripped the truck's diver door, pulled it, as you waited for the light to shine at the driver's seat. At the click of the door, it never came though. Of course. The only thing you noticed was a strange, and pretty bad, faint smell. Maybe it was getting old enough for the interior to stink weirdly...  
You climbed your way up to the driver seat, taking your phone and lighting up the underneath of the wheel. There, some colorful wires were dingling freely out of their plastic cage. You stuck your phone so it would light them, and started to work with them so the light would turn on again, with some hope. Some minutes passed, and suddenly, when the green wire touched the red one, the light flashed weakly. You had a lead!   
Adjusting your position a bit, you connected the wires, twisting them so they would remain together. The light twinkled a little more, and when you finished, it had a proper, constant, and yet pretty faint glow. At least it was more than nothing. Satisfied, you sighed, turning to the backpack you had put on the passenger seat when you were still in the dark, before your guts made a sickening twist. It was filthy. There were brown, fetid, sloopy stains absolutely _everywhere_.   
  
  
There was _blood_. All over the place.   
  
  
Your breathing had picked up again, desperate for air, and it seemed you couldn't have enough. There was dried, sticky old blood everywhere, from the dark fabric of the seats to the hard plastic of the board. Absolutely. Fucking. Everywhere. The stench of death surrounded you, more powerful than before. Panicked, incapable of thinking, you rose your hand to your face, the one you had used to push yourself on the driver seat.   
It was covered in a brown, almost waxy substance, and it reeked of rotten, organic matter. It made you overly nauseous way too quick, as you stumbled out of there, crying out in pure panic. You just tripped out, ending up on all four on the ground, thinking of covering your mouth and nose before remembering with a twist in the guts that your hands were disgusting now... You coughed, sickened to the point of no return. What. The. Hell.   
Okay... Breath. There where _murders_ happening in this forest. You _had_ to expect things like those. And yet, you had never been prepared. Your backpack was still in the vehicule. God... You weren't really up to going back there again. Really, it gave you the automatic reflex to just puke, seeing the filthy, blood-bathed interior of this nightmarish truck. Just... You felt like you couldn't go in there. You sit on the ground a few more minutes, still not believing that you could go in there, there your hands into waxy, rotting blood again, just to retrieve your bag. But then again... You needed it. To go home. To just end with this twisted journey. You had enough.   
  
Finally, after quite a long break, you mustered the strengh to go back. You would stop breathing, retrieve it the fastest way you could, and go far, far away, never coming back in those woods again. You tried to stand up again, stumbling a bit because of your wounded leg, until you managed to stand upright. Then, nearing the open cabin of the vehicule, still lighted up by the yellowish, cheap glow and still reeking the same weird way, you climbed the driver seat, inhaling deeply and blocking quickly your whole windpipe. You crawled on the sticky fabric, as quick as you could manage to be, grabbed your things, and got out stumbling again, quite uneasy. Once out, wary to not jump to hard on the ground because of your leg, you tumbled a few steps away before breathing again, taking a deep, fresh inhale. The air smelled filthy, but not as much. Your clothes, your packpack and your hands had probably picked up the smell. But you couldn't care less. You just wanted out of here.   
  
Getting around the vehicule, you aimed to continue forward, still limping. You turned around the back of it, but something stange caught your eye before you could get away. A white glimpse, stangely clear in the dark of the night. You slowed down, turning to this glimpse, weirdly intrigued. There, stuck on the rusting metal of the back of the truck. There was a paper attached to it. A note, seemingly.   
  
Maybe someone left a message? A warning, maybe? Curious, you found the courage to approach it. You gripped the white paper, your brows furrowing to what you read on it. And you tore it from it's place, unknowingly sealing your fate.   
The paper, contrary to your expectation, didn't give you useful informations. But it was... Dreadfully eerie. Like a bad omen, quite inoffensive, but just... Making your anxiety grow like a vice grip on your throat. It was just... A scribled, sinister drawing. On each side of the page, there were two rows of words, just spelling: 

" **NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO**..."  
  
  
The scribbled interjections seemed erratic. not unlike a complete maniac writing them. Or someone desperately scared. But the strangest, and what made the least sense, was this strange, stick figure scribbled in between those two rows of No's. It was weird, not quite drawn, but almost scratched on the paper with an old pen. This figure... Albeit it was simple, it seemed it wasn't really... A naturally bad drawing. Seemed like whoever intended to draw this didn't wish to just make a stick figure but rather a real man, even adding what looked like a costume to it. But the whole drawing was eerily stretched. To tall to be human, to lanky to be real, almost looking like some twigs stuck together... Without forgetting the unfinished face, a thin, not quite round head that lack hair and facial features. Whatever it was, it felt just...Erratic. Panicked. Desperate.   
The whole drawing, the repeated, crazy no's... It made you so weirdly uneasy. Almost the same unease from the feeling of being alone in the dark. Not being scarred because you are alone, but because you feel you are, in fact, **not** alone.   
  
  
...Enough with the spooky shit. You had some other things to think about, like going home and treating your leg. Gulping your unease, you crumpled the paper and threw it as far as you could, before continuing forward. But unexpectedly... Something felt off. You had walked for what seemed like forever, and your worries only grew with each steps you took. Maybe it was the tension you felt, that stretched each seconds, each minutes to an infinity. And yet, you had the impression that no matter how long, how far you would walk, or how strong you tried to strop thinking about the eerie page you had found... It seemed like you couldn't walk away from this place, nor get the note out of your mind. It was starting to be creepy, and your hands were shaking as you advanced, looking forward, always. It felt like you were stuck in a loop.   
For so long now, you had felt your heart beat harder. Not faster.   
Just harder. _Deeper. **Louder**_. It was pounding in the calm, regular pace that haunted you.   
It was beating in the air all around you, vibrating in the stench that followed you untiringly. And then you realized:  
What was beating all around you wasn't your heart.   
You stuck two fingers to your juggular, fingers trembling against the blood-gorged vein. It didn't synch up with the beating in your ears. It should, but it didn't.   
  
Your breathing picked up even more, as fear started to constrict your guts. Were you going crazy? They said you started to hear things when you were going crazy. Maybe your drugged senses played tricks on you. But deep inside, you knew how you high senses felt like. And it didn't feel like this tensed up, heavy feeling of hearing something that didn't exist. But in the end, you could do absolutely nothing more than walk. Keep going. Cope with it. Exactly like everything in your life.   
You tumbled forward, out of breath. Freezing in an endless night, always colder and colder. You wanted to go home. The beating never stopped, following your path as your anxiety was building up with each steps.   
You felt uneasy for most of your walk. Feeling dread rising, like an infantile fear coming back. The one, although you're supposed to feel safe, that gave you the desperate feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you will never be safe. A fear for your life that never ceased. Like you were not alone.   
Always preyed by something. Something awful, ominous. And that would never leave.   
  
Slowly, like an approaching threat, your head started to pound. Infinitely more than the normal headache and jittery gestures of your dope sickness. Your throat felt horse... Dry. Like it was made from sandpaper, constricting and scraping. Your head hurt more and more, almost like your eyeballs were going to explode.   
Abruptly, you felt your legs fail you, and you fell face first against the ground. You started to cough harshly, almost spitting out your lungs. It never stopped... You were sweating, a searing pain digging in the back of your brain. The more you coughed, the more you _needed_ to couch. You almost couldn't breath in your heavy coughing, each scarce, but deep inhale sounding like a breathless, voiceless wheeze.  
  
Each time you thought it couldn't get worse, more painful, it actually did, and if you could curse, you would. The pounding, deep bass around you deepened, as you stopped breathing from the coughing... Were you dying? Were you actually dying? You couldn't breath... You **_needed_** to breath... Desperately. You felt like something was digging a large hole in the back of your skull, planting a needle in your brain. Expending it so it would break your skull and crush your brain... It was atrocious. Unbearable.   
  
Breathless, you pleaded silently for it to stop. You begged like you never begged before. It was so painful... The worst you've _ever_ fucking known in your whole life.   
Soon, the lack of oxygen felt almost...Unreal. You felt a sudden, unexpected wave of strange tiredness. You felt weary, ready to pass out. Almost like floating. You were going to fall unconscious... Not before catching something.   
  
  
A white glimpse.

Starring at you. 

~ ~ ~   
  
  
... A sudden, deep inhale woke you up.   
Abruptly, freezing air filled your burning lungs. The air seemed full of tiny shards of ice, burning and cutting through your windpipe to fill up and exit your seemingly empty lungs. Your whole chest burnt a slicing pain from the new breath you took. _It felt divine._  
You felt alive again.   
How long were you unconscious? It felt as you stopped breathing, probably not long. You stayed there, lying on the ground, collecting yourself for some time. It felt so good, and it was yet so painful to breath again. Like a fresh new start. A rebirth. After some time simply looking at the darkened, cloudless sky, you decided to stand up again. It seemed that the surrounding got darker. Near your passed out form, your phone fell and the lamp was turned off. Sudden worry gripped at your chest, as you crawled towards it and hastily retrieved it. You pressed the button to unlock it, hoping that it still had the energy to light your steps and guide you home.   
Fortunately, the screen lightened up, and you gave the deepest sighs of relief... You weren't _that_ unlucky in the end.   
Keeping the device close, you pushed against the weight of your backpack to stand up. As always, with your leg, it was difficult, but you were getting better at this. Once you were standing up, you looked around. Nothing had changed. The leaves around you always rustled quietly, the tree's growing high in the sky, the pale moonlight which offered too little light to guide you. The traced path that darted in the darkness only to come back a few steps ahead. The rotten scent. The consuming fear. Everything stayed as it was before you mysteriously lost consciousness.   
  
Hellbent, you did the last and only thing you could: turning on the flashlight of your phone, you kept walking again. Always forward, followed by the crooked shadows of the dying nature around you. By the putrid fragance of death, born from a place you didn't know. By the relentless pain of a sliced calf, reminded to you at each steps. By the constant, relentless beating sound that never disappeared...   
You were sick. You were hurt. And overall, you were so, _so tired..._ You just wanted to go home. To get out of here. Even if your life was hard, here you just felt... So lonely. In danger. Stuck. All of those unbearable feelings mixing together were just exhausting now. You could just take so much, before snapping, and you had the impression that you were already getting crazy. Paranoid, even.   
  
As the woods, reapeating the seemingly same and endless scenery, were slowly morphing into an unsufferable maze, you abruptly came across something different. Something looking like... An abandonned building? It only had one floor, and felt pretty noticeable, with it's colorful red bricks and it's bright green roof, without forgetting the vast space it occupied. You didn't know what it was. Inside, it was dark, and seemingly empty.   
Feeling more and more cold and tired; you still doubted. The inside looked strangely eerie... And at the same time, you were beginning to crave the shelter of some walls, without forgetting a few things: you could completely use some water, or some light even, if you managed to find a generator... Just in front of the doorless entrance, even if the darkness seemed particularily unappealing, your path almost _led_ you to enter. The path, the pain in your leg, the cold wind rising. Almost everything pressed you to enter. Finally, you dared to make a step towards the warm darkness of the place, left to rot an eternity ago it seemed. Then another, until you were slowly engulfing yourself in the obscure building.   
  
You first were met with a serie of labyrinthic corridors, punctuated by doorless entrances. Your improvised flashlight shone on the white, polished ceramic on the walls, which were not unlike the ones you found in your bathroom. The shiny, not quite dirty walls weren't paved to the ceiling, and the mix between the cold white colors, and the dirty concrete elevating to the ceiling gave you a weird feeling. It was like roaming the halls of an abandoned hospital, which wasn't even sanitary in the first place. It just... Gave you the chills. Lots of them.   
The sole of your muddy shoes, at each of your unstable step, made a slapping sound that came muffled by the wood's dirt you brought with you upon entering. It soon became your only rythm, as the cold light of your phone shone your steps. Your eyed each of the entrances, and soon realized that it only consisted of emptied rooms, looking just like the corridors, and only being delimited by four identic walls. Nothing of interest, whatsoever. Although, you didn't really know _why_ , but you kept checking each room you passed. Almost like you were afraid of missing something. Of course, deep down, you knew it was silly. You had nothing to miss. Some of the room were empty, some just had a chair, or some dirt on the ground. Just the kind of abandonned items you could expect. And yet... You just felt obligated to check each and every room in this place. As futile as it seemed, you just... _needed_ to do so...

But suddenly, as you relentlessly eyed one of the countless rooms, you came across something unusual, and yet weirdly familiar. _A note._  
There was a note!   
It just stood their, at the back wall of the empty chamber, stuck on the ceramic. Very soon, and quite unexpectedly, your curiosity got ahead of you, and you didn't even feel yourself jump on this note until you were in front of it, and realised your sudden movement ignited a searing pain in your wounded leg. You whimpered, clenching your teeth and almost grabbing your leg, before the burning sting faded away into a vague, muffled numbness again. Then, raising your head, you took the note while eyeing it curiously, furrowing your brows. It read some words again, quite ominous as well, just like the previous note you read... Were there scribbled notes everywhere in those woods? What sort of lunatic could do this...? "  
  
" **DON'T LOOK... OR IT TAKES YOU**"  
  
Near those words, you only found two scribbled drawings... A cross, and again, this weird stick figure you had seen before. Just like the previous drawing, the stick figure felt sloppily made, but strangely precise, almost like the drawer wanted this figure to look unnatural and crooked. Who was this thing? Or... What was it? Maybe just the haunting dream of a madman?   
_Don't be a liar, you're mad too and you know it... You..._ You just had a problem. An issue. A plague that you couldn't let die. But you're not mad... Not yet. And you would not let the intrusive thoughts take the best of you just now...!

This time, even if the scribbled drawing made you uneasy, you decided to keep it. You were too lazy to just crumple it, or even tear it to shreds. You only, negligently folded it and placed it in your pocket. After all, it didn't change anything. Then, as you proceeded to exit the room, you noticed something. Along with the beating sound resonating faintly in the air, almost making your chest beat with it, rose a sort of deep whistle in the wind. It sounded... Too high-pitched to be natural, and yet, you still had no explanation to where this breathy, pealing sound came from. It was just...There. You didn't remember it from before, you were certain, as this strange, surreal sound made an atrocious anxiety awaken in the pit of your chest. It was a certain kind of fear, that you never experienced before. Like witnessing the world melting around you, and not even knowing about it. Or being suddenly very alone, wherever you go in the world. It was just... Awfully odd, and yet not wrong enough for you to point exactly what was going on. You just felt more lost than ever. And... Followed.   
  
It was what described the most precisely what you felt at the moment. At the same time very lonely, and never truly alone. Not in a good sense...

Out in the halls, the feeling never truly died, as you gulped and managed to continue forward and explore the corridors. You stepped on crushed ceramic on the floor, nearing again one last room, near one of the entrances of the building. Peaking inside, as always, you found nothing. The only difference with before was in your state, as you noticed that not only you felt more anxious, closely followed and purely terrified, but also your head was pounding. It was pretty different from the nascent headache which had stuck to you for the past time. It was a searing pain, pounding at the back of your head, like razors in your brain and behind your eyes. The kind of pain that left you nauseous, as you wiped your damp forehead, covered in sweat. Then, you had a realization... Dope sickness. You were suffering of withdrawal syndrome. Maybe it could explain it all... You possibly started a horrible withdrawal, maybe worst than any you've had until this day. It would explain the sounds, the feelings, the sickness... Even the moment you lost consciousness! Maybe it was all just a hallucination, an illusion born from the lack of toxins in your blood. But if your theory was accurate, you would soon be unable to continue. If you began to be _that_ sick, you would never find your way home.   
As awful as this idea sounded... You needed a fix. Right now.   
  
You remembered as, just before you escaped your flat, you took everything related to your drug consumption in case the cops would search your home. You _had_ to do this.   
  
Carefully eyeing your surroundings, you entered the empty room. It was poorly lit, safe for the light of your phone. Hesitantly nearing the wall in the back of the room, you grew more and more apprehensive. The sickness overcoming your senses with nausea and stomach ache wasn't the only source of you incomfort, as you realized shooting yourself in here would disrupt your ritual. You were used to shoot in a relatively clean bathroom, as well as correctedly lit. Having your fix here made you beyond nervous, and you soon realized your legs not only trembled from pain, but also from fear as you sat down on the frigid tiles. Almost slipping on your muddy shoes, you let out a plaintive whimper, gliding against the wall as your voice and breathing resonated in the emptiness. Then, when your back made contact with the ice cold ground through the fabric of your jeans, you managed to take your backpack and open it. Rummaging a bit, you found everything. The dark box hiding your syringe and your garrotte, the bag full of your opiate, the lighter, the spoon, and what was left of water in your bottle. You had used a fair part for your wounds, and as thirsty as you felt, you knew you couldn't loose any of the precious liquid. 

Then, you got to work. With so little light, and with your shaky hands, you knew the process would be tedious. Frustrating. It would be a torture to do this in your state, and seeing your condition.   
You proceeded to put a bit of water in the spoon, then mixed it with a fix. It was long. _So long..._ Just to carefully watch as despite your shaking, you didn't spill anything. You wanted everything to accelerate. You heated the spoon with your lighter, fortunately full enough to let you use it for quite long. As soon as the bitter smell rose to your nose, emanating from what had become a sort of dark brown, sticky liquid, you let the spoon down, and shone yourlight on the dark box to take out the syringe and assemble it. The needle turned rapidly in your trembling fingers as you screwed it to the vial, and once you finished, you eagerly placed the said needle in the spoon, absorbing the liquid. Yes. _It was working, and you were getting impatient. You craved this..._

As soon as your..."Medication" was ready, you put the syringe down, and started the most frustrating, unnerving, and infuriating game ever: finding a vein to the mere light of your phone. You deeply, shakily inhaled, and then exhaled. Calm down. Focus. _I can do this..._  
You took your garrotte out, and started to seek a viable vein. Instants passed. Soon, instants became minutes, and patience became fury. It made you mad. After countless times trying to feel the veins pulsing under your finger, tightening the rubber garrotte around your flesh, failing to find, start again, and again, feeling the blood drip and seeing none in the syringe, start again, and again, sighing, and again...You could almost smash the glass vial of the syringe in frustration, if you didn't cherish its content like a cursed treasure. Quietly, you suddenly eyed the slash in your calf. The brown, almost black blood drying in it... It was so open, so easy... After all, veins where _just like tubes... You could try. You just had to aim. You were so desperate, maybe-..._

  
...It was the worst idea you've ever had. No. It was like insanity was slowly creeping up in your head... What were you thinking about...?! 

No. You had to be patient. Just a little bit more... Your shaking had gotten worse, but then you thought; the wound of your leg. You didn't have to shoot _in_ the dent. But near it, the veins should have dilated. You could try it, it was actually not such a bad idea... You grabbed you leg, and carefully placing it on your other thigh, and started to search while your shone your light at your pale skin. You spent quite a moment searching correctly, partly because of the pain constantly coming back and blurring your focus. Then... There was it. Under your fingers, there was a vein pulsing near your ankle! And a fairly large one. With a load of hope, you pushed the needle past you skin, moved a bit, and... There it was. The pinkish puff in the vial. You had it...!   
A faint, eager smile shone on your lips, as you slowly pushed the liquid down in your blood. The needle was shaking with your fingers, hurting... _But damn it was good..._  
You shakily exhaled, and when you had drowned the last drop of the opiate in your blood, you pulled out the needle, letting your tool roll on the floor. 

Your shoulders suddenly relaxed, falling, and you pushed a tired, but relieved sigh out of your throat, closing your eyes. It felt... Burning. Atrocious. _Heavenly._  
You had to get up. You knew you had to, to continue roaming those dark woods, and find your way home. But it felt so good, sitting here, and just... Feeling this _hunger_ going away. Feeling less and less sick. Just... Away. Almost like flying. You felt free. Happy. Relaxed, and so full of energy you could jump off a window without dying. Maybe you could keep your eyes closed. Rest forever. Sit in here and never think of what has gone wrong ever again.   
However, your relaxed state was progressively interrupted by...A noise? Yes, it sounded like... Static. An awful, static noise growing. Like in an old TV not receiving anything... The sound grew and grew, only to become unbearable.

_What was that...?! Shut up...! Just.... Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up...! Enough!  
_

You wondered where it was coming from, until you realized the deafening sound came from your hand. More precisely, your phone.  
...What? Phones didn't make that kind of noise. They weren't supposed to. What was that? Slowly, curiosity, anguish and doubt overcame you, and you dared to try and open your eyes, just to check your phone... Only to be met with pitch black. It felt pretty odd, because you didn't remember turning the flash of your phone off. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused at the pitch dark standing in front of you... Standing...

There was someone standing in front of you. 

You just realized... There was someone. With you. Your breathing picked up. 

You were not alone. You never were. Your heartbeat became erratic. You wanted to cry. What the fuck. There was a suit...

Your eyes grew larger. You rose your head. Fear gripped your chest. You couldn't breathe. Litterally. You whimpered. You were so scared. 

You saw his face. You saw **its** face. There wasn't anyone with you. You started to cry. There was **something** with you. What was that. Oh my god. No... No _no no NO NO NO NO NO NO..._

_**He has no face.  
** _

You let out the most blood-chilling scream you've ever heard. What the hell. What. The hell. You... You had bad trip. It was a bad trip... Nothing was real. _God you hoped nothing was real..._ _Why did it feel so real...?  
_ You sloppily tried to crawl back, only to realize you were already stuck against the wall, only digging your shoulder blades in the cold ceramic tiles behind you. Suddenly, your sight seemed to grew larger, almost as if you realized you could eye the odd entity in front of you in all its height. This... Horrendous thing, it was awfully tall. It bore a lanky, skeletal figure, each joints and articulations appearing swollen compared to the frail bones of this creature, deprived of its muscles. Its face was, if you could call this blank canvas of pale, cadaver-like skin a "face"; vaguely resembling the shape of a human skull. Its only features were purple veins that failed to hide under this alabaster skin. And... It wore something alike a very old and dirty suit? Your whole cranium started to violently pound, as something itched in you throat. You tried to clear it, only for the itch to worsen. Now was **_certainly not_** the good time to worry about cough or sickness... You were going through the worst bad trip of your life, with a potential death at stake...! You had something else to think! 

_'Fuck what was that.'_ , you thought, eyes widening when you heard a sickening cracking sound just in front of you. The sound felt all too real, and realization downed upon you again that it was coming from the creature. Despite the overwhelming pain in your skull, your attention came back, and focus made you notice the disgusting entity rolled a shoulder in a grotesque, exaggerated movement to make the bones crack. It made no sound, at least from it's throat, but as the movement gave life to a sort of violent spasm within the creature's body, its neck followed the movement his shoulder had made, and suddenly was crooked to the side violently, in a second. It almost felt like the monster's neck had broke, leaving its head to rest in a disturbing angle, seating abnormally still. Could your drugged up mind, under the influence of opiates and suffering, have managed to create a demon, specially designed to intimately torment you? Were you unconsciously doing this to yourself...?   
As the beating sound resonating for quite long now, accompanied by the high-pitched, tensed whistling in the air never ceased, you started to wonder if this entity, although being most probably an illusion of your mind, had actually broken its neck and died... Instants passed, and it stayed so still, unmoving. Maybe you could try to get away... Maybe it would disappear? Slowly, ever so slowly, you tried to pat around you to find your things. Your phone, your backpack, the syringe you had let roll on the floor a while ago... It would be a good start, before trying to bolt away. Well... As much as your leg would let you. 

But as you tried to sloppily move, too battered by the pain and the exhaustion to actually move precisely, it seemed that one spasm of your shaking hand against the ceramic floor woke the creature up. Only the faint, almost inaudible sound of your nails against the old ceramic pavements ignited a sort of rumbling inside the chest of the strange entity. At first, the slight sound seemed like a sort of unearthly, disturbing purr, but it soon morphed into a low growl. It seemed surreal, almost like it echoed inside your head, and not really from the slender creature throat.

The sound made you freeze.

This...Thing was not dead. You didn't know how, or why, but you couldn't shake this hallucination out. You've already "seen" things before. You weren't a stranger to tripping. But right now... You're fight or flight instinct, barely covered by the incessant pain _everywhere_ in your body, couldn't apparently stop to kick in, again, and again, and again, as your heart gave you the feeling it was stopping, and your brain, that it was exploding. This pattern of violent pain repeated like a cursed loop, something you've never experienced as intensely before. Plus, this state of confused suffering, it was when you were down... Sick. Never when you just took a fix. 

You didn't realised that you unconsciously voiced your thoughts until you actually heard yourself mumbling faintly: 

"I-I...I'm going to d-die...?"

This voice... It didn't even seem it was belonging to you. It was so weak. So... Broken. Following those words, the sorrow dripping from them, you heard your breath pick up. You were so scared... Damn, you would have wanted to run away. Tear yourself away from this sick illusion. But outside of a throbbing skull, and a torn off leg... You were desperately dreadful of what would come if you dared to move. 

Suddenly, the creature, who was shortly ago growling at you feebly spasmed again, before...

It moved. 

Oh god it moved... It had been bending towards you, almost eyeing you curiously. Although it didn't have a single eye you could see, you felt it's attention on you. It's _unwanted_ attention. Something ill, that you've felt before. It didn't come up right when you entered this forest. It amplified... But you've been feeling like this for months. Just... This feeling of being watched. Observed, like a plaything.   
Slowly, the creature, although silent, let a knee down on the tiles, approaching you slowly. Your head suddenly felt like someone introduced sharp razors through your ears and into your brain, before grabbing your head and shaking it violently. It felt like hell now...

_Worse than anything you've ever felt before..._

You heard yourself whimper, your eyes almost rolling at the back of your skull as you closed your sore lids, grabbing your head. Your cranium felt crushed to pieces now, and your brain bathing in acidic mixture, waiting to be digested into a lumpy mush of neurons. Your digits pressed harder at your temples, vainly trying to relieve your head from this vicious pain...  
You almost didn't notice the feeling of a thick, burning texture rolling softly out of your nose, way to focused on the searing burn in your head, and how hellbent you were to just make it all stop. But at this worrying sensation, barely opening your eyes and hoping for the disgusting hallucination in front of you to be gone, deceit didn't seem to have spared you...

Your heart abruptly skipped a beat in your chest, and your eyes grew to their widest when you saw how close to creature was now. But not only that... You felt freezing digits slide on your waist, just where your shirt was. The sudden, icy burn against your skin made you yelp, and lowering your eyes you realized with a hint of additional pain in your brain that the slender figure had touched you. It was... Touching you. A real, cold, unforgiving touch.   
Your eyes widened even more, you thought it couldn't be possible. But actually, your brain had just ditched everything, only to repeat something alarmingly creepy, in an unending loop of panic: 

_It was too real. The touch was too real to be in your head. Something was so, so awfully wrong, and you knew it with the strength of a despair you've never encountered._

The oxygen. You didn't breath. Barely... Your breath was whistling, and wasn't just 'picking up'. You were hyperventilating again. But not out of panic... Out of cheer, pure terror. The unleashed horror of feeling helpless in front of the real unknown.   
Go away, you instantly thought. Now. No information, as practical as they could have been, could have rushed to your panicked brain. It seemed to only listen to your instinct, as your entire body shook with vicious doses of adrenaline. That was it, whether you were going to run, scream, or die from cardiac arrest right now. 

However, it seemed instinct had taken over you. It just felt like you were on a suffering fueled autopilot. You weren't in control of anything. A silent scream just bubbled in your throat, and a powerful tensing in your legs pushed your to actually get up.   
The impulsion in your leg felt sudden and abrupt, but it was nothing compared to the live horror you felt when realization dawned upon you that you calf was sending you your worst load of pain signals, coupled with the strain in your heart when your hopes to run away already started to fade away. 

Moreover, in fact, you didn't even have the time to ponder all of this, naturally, as your body automatically rushed into a flight mode, pushing the little energy you had in your leg. But as you felt the impulsion in your muscles, for it was desperately painful, you never really felt how your feet crushed against the cold tiles. Instead, you only felt a large, bony hand engulfing your entire thorax in those never-ending, crooked fingers. You couldn't really understand what was happening. The only thing you truly managed to register was the violent blow that managed to cut your breath when your torso was smashed against the wall behind you. Your mind wasn't even clear enough the register anything correctly now, and the pounding headache you had, combined with the tearing, almost dull pain in your leg was making you sob uncontrollably.   
  
You didn't have the courage to look up. When you tried to open your eyes, you could only stare through the obscure room at what looked like a crooked, grotesque pair of shoes. Your breathing couldn't even slow down, and your heartbeat sounded deafening and racing. You had only one chance to escape. One, single chance to run away, and it was wasted in a second, when you were caught by an entity that couldn't only be a product of your twisted, intoxicated mind. And oh, what you would have given to simply...Be away. This hell _had_ to stop. Unfortunately, fate showed itself to be a cruel deceiver. Your heart skipped a beat, igniting a vivid pain in your chest when you started to feel something cold creeping up your ankle, wrapping around it, and occasionally, around your shredded wound. It was sticky and freezing, and soon, you started to sob loudly. It felt like someone just poured acid in the dent of your calf, and you threw a panicked glance at your leg, starting to violently shake. Around it, a sort of pitch black, gluey and dark appendage was slithering, circling your leg and pulling on it. It felt inconsistent and gelatinous, but you couldn't even think it would bear such strength. God, you couldn't even think an demonic entity would appear before you, and even less that it would be armed with such a sickening appendage, that looked like a shadow and felt almost like ice cold jelly. Shook by spasms and cries, you lifted you head, and the strain around your heart made you snap and plead desperately:   
  
  
"...P-Please...Don't...Don't hurt me...L-Let me go...I beg you..."  
  
  
Your voice was pleading and the sound of it awakened a painful itch in your throat, as well as a rumbling, dark growl coming from the creature in front of you. It almost sounded like a sort of vibrant clicking, and you felt yourself tensing in horror as the demonic presence bent unnaturally, slowly bringing its face closer to yours... And you felt this never ending, inexistant look staring right through you. You, on the other hand, couldn't even process a single information. You were just blinded with pain and drugs. Everything felt unreal and all too real at the same time, and the only thing you wanted was to get away. For it to end.  
You didn't care whether this was real or not. If it was paranormal or your mind giving in to your favorite poison. At this point, it didn't matter anymore. You were too busy with your current, unbearable suffering. So busy, in fact, that this time you didn't even feel how the crooked fingers of the slender creature quietly slid under your shirt, caressing your skin with a touch filled with gruesome need. Like a demon wanting to tear a human apart just to see what it was made of. This morbid curiosity remained, as you felt distinctly this time something brushing under your chest, tracing your ribs and slowly creeping up your skin like a razor sharp blade tracing a cold, invisible path on you. Its fingers were on your body, and the searing pain within your skull kept you from fighting back. Slowly, the hand constricting your thorax relaxed, and started to lift off, letting the fingers under the clothe of your shirt glide more freely. You couldn't even move without having the impression that your skull was imploding. When you didn't have the support of a crooked, slender hand, finding steadiness in its unbounded size, you felt how your legs failed you, a whimper escaping your constricted, itching throat when you abruptly fell down.   
  
A loud sob escaped you once again, as the raven appendage around your leg tightened, and jerked you forward as you limped on the floor painfully. The force of your fall, combined with the strangely forceful jerk that pulled your leg from under you, had your head smashing painfully against the cold hard tiles. The heavy, disorientating pain of such a blow didn't even let you hear the wheezing cry that escaped your mouth inadvertently, and you lied there for an unknown amount of time, incapable of processing whatsoever and wondering barely coherently if you would feel you mind slip into the darkness of unconsciousness -or better, death. Your perception of what was happening around you was blurry. The need to scream and cry was overwhelming, but your body firmly refused to comply with the stifling panic spreading through your mind like a disease. But when, almost in a miracle, you noticed how the already ice cold air around you felt more insidious, you barely saw your shirt lifted off my your fall and the creeping hand that traced you skin.   
  
Could that be... What was this creature doing?   
Deep down, you weren't sure, and surprisingly enough for such a hazy mind, you started to imagine the worst. However, you weren't even sure what 'the worst' could actually be... The way your skin was brushed and...Almost studied by this entity of death and sorrow, you wanted to feel like this was just a deeply morbid curiosity from an unearthed, ethereal creature that should never have existed in the first place. 

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY WILL NOT BE FINISHED. 
> 
> Sorry, I hope you like it anyway.


End file.
